God Has Spoken
by His Spectacles
Summary: Draco does it all for one reason: Harry. 'I can live with this.'


**God Has Spoken**

**One-shot**

A/N: Yes, I am depressed, and this is what came out of it. This is….a prompt for vickevire (LJ) with the prompt inspired by Amanda Jensen's song 'Lockdown' and I think I messed it up and nggh, I'm sorry!

This is, this is a different Draco for me. A Draco who has been corrupted, in love, messed up, confused and in the end, tragic. I kind of like him this way. Also, wtf, first person POV? From Draco??? Wtf did I do?

-

I can live with this.

His head on my shoulder, his breath heavy against my skin, his body pressed as intimately as possible against mine. His eyes, always green, heats my skin and chills my bones. I can remember a time when that gaze held so much contempt for me and for everything I stood for but now it's full of hot intensity that makes me press even closer to him.

After, while we catch our breath, he leans against me as if he savors my existence. His hand wraps boldly against my left arm, covering that ugly wound imbedded into the flesh. It is a part of who I am, proof of my identity and the mark that separates me from him as if we stood on each end of a different country.

I can't even remember how this started. Had it ever been just a simple way to ease the tension and the fear? Had it ever been just a simple way to punish the other for being who he is? Had it ever stopped being a convenient release and turned into this?

I really don't remember.

There are holes in parts of my memory. It's terrifying because I know, I fucking know, that the Dark Lord cannot read my mind. I am an excellent Occlumens, exactly like Severus, but it feels like _He_ has somehow damaged my head. When I look into my own mind, I don't feel _His_ presence but that doesn't reassure me.

The Dark Lord does not regard me highly. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Somewhere, my father rots in Azkaban, forgotten by the Master he once served so faithfully but whose trust he failed time and again. The very same Master who controls my life and the life of everyone else, try as they may to deny it.

My hands shake when I think of father.

In our world, the Dark Lord is our momentary God.

He whispers that I'm clean. The Dark Lord isn't in my head. He says I'm fighting in the Good Side and that once it's over, we can live happily ever after.

Harry's eyes are always ringed with circles these days. He's also getting thinner from fighting and fighting and fighting. I haven't the heart to remind him that if he succeeds, I will be thrown into Azkaban for bearing _His_ Mark and no matter what Harry says, no matter how well he defends my honor, I cannot be saved.

I do not know when I fell in love. It's absurd, truly, why it happened. Aren't I the Death Eater who spies for the Order and isn't Harry the boy who is going to save us all? He has seen darkness and so have I. But unlike Harry, I thrive in it. He does not like it and so do I but it's the truth. In front of the Dark Lord, kneeling and praising _His_ every word, I feel that I'm living my potential. I'm powerful, I should serve this power. It is chilling, it is horrible.

But it is Harry who keeps me away. It's because of him that I accepted Dumbledore's task. That when the Dark Lord branded me as _His_ servant, I already had a mark that goes deeper than _His_.

Then I am away from Harry. Away from him, and his green eyes, and his lips and hands and touch. Then I am in front of the Dark Lord and _He_ is staring into my eyes and I nearly shake in my fear that _He_ will know, in my fear that I will give in to the darkness that _He_ is, that has born me, that has raised me, that has made me.

I love Harry but when he leaves me in the shadows, I crave the power.

_His_ power is the pain of Crucio, the willingness of Imperio and the freedom of Avada Kedavra. We taste it and we suffer for it, writhing under the curses that we ourselves cast for _Him_.

Harry asks me to describe what's it like to be a Death Eater and I always bite my tongue because I know I will sound like I enjoy it, like it is an honor to serve such a wizard. So I tell him the words he wants to hear and feel like I am lying.

Is it possible to love Harry Potter but follow in the Dark Lord?

Oh, indeed, how the mighty have fallen.

-

"Malfoy, I know…" _He_ hisses into my ear. "I cannot read your mind but I can read _you_."

-

It has been four months since I was last with Harry. Now, I cannot recall the exact shade of his hair or imagine the thump-thump-thump of his heart. Does Harry have a mole under the side of his chin? Are his ribs ticklish? I don't…

The Dark Lord is speaking. There is genuine pleasure in his voice. I stand with the lower ranks, a shamed Malfoy amidst riffraff.

It is Parkinson and Nott and Crabbe and Goyle who stand comfortably next to the Master. They have taken my place.

_But your place is next to Harry_, a voice whispers.

Harry…does his fingers fit the spaces between mine? I can't remember the scent of his arousal. I haven't felt the warmth of his embrace.

"…Finally, victory i_s_ in our gra_s_p. It i_s_ here! It is po_ss_ible…with the Death of Harry Potter, it i_s_ our_s_!"

Like some horrible, choreographed act, Nott grasps the empty air in front of him but somehow removes a fluid-like cloth and flings it to the ground. There, wandless, bound and furious, is Harry.

There are gasps, there are cheers and I clamp down on my own reaction. I cannot hear over the roar of my blood. I hide my telltale wavering hands in the folds of my robe.

His eyes – _green_, _yes_, _green_ like emeralds when he's happy and dark as jade when livid! – find my figure amidst the crowd and the Dark Lord follows his gaze. A slow, disfigured of a smile spreads across _His _bloodless lips.

"Ah, young Malfoy. Ye_s_, ye_s_, come forward."

I cannot disobey.

"Ye_s_, Malfoy, take out your wand and torture him."

I can see the protest on Parkinson's face (_Malfoy_, my Lord?) but she does not dare question the Dark Lord.

Does the Dark Lord know about us?

I dare not disobey.

My grip quivers and I…I…_must_ disobey. I cannot hurt Harry. It does not matter if I am exposed; Harry must be protected.

"Malfoy," the Dark Lord hisses.

Harry tilts his head back to stare at me – verdant when he kisses below my navel, lush as he whispers into my ear – as I stand between him and my Master.

I close my eyes. "_Crucio_."

Harry wails, long and loud and painful, as he convulses in the agony of the curse. I stare at him, unable to look away as his eyes roll upwards and he bites his cheek and bleeds in his mouth, choking the scream. The triumphant, malevolent cheering around me fades away into a steady buzzing until the distinct sensation of the Anti-Apparition wards around Parkinson Manor suddenly disappears.

Others must have felt it too as their voices falter.

I act on impulse. So Gryffindor.

"_Finite_! _Ennervate_! _Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Protego!_"

I fall to my knees and hold Harry steady as he blinks himself out of disorientation. We only have a few seconds before the five people I disarmed regain their wands.

I press my wand into Harry's hand. "Harry, Harry," is all I can manage, overcome by sudden terror.

Harry points my wand at the Dark Lord and swallows the blood in his mouth. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

There is a rush of green light and _His _laughter and for a moment I think that it doesn't work. _He's_ too powerful to be killed. But then there comes the horrified shriek from Pansy as the Dark Lord falls to the ground, dead.

In an instant, Harry embraces me and Apparates.

-

They think I am asleep.

They think I don't hear them.

"Harry, he _has_ to go to Azkaban," Granger seethes. "Just look at what he _did_ to you! You've got two broken ribs, numerous bruises and too many cuts to count!"

"Yeah, mate! If Malfoy really _loves_ you like he claims, then he wouldn't have done this to you!" The disgust in his voice is unforgiving. "Just…Merlin, Harry, you know we told you not to do this!"

"Then what, Ron? Should he have refused to torture me and reveal himself as a spy, wherein Voldemort will kill us both anyway? He saved me! It doesn't matter how, he did, and Voldemort is gone because of him and for _fuck's_ sake, stop cringing when I say his name. VOLDEMORT!"

I flinch but they don't notice.

Then comes the sound of paper slapping on a wooden surface.

"There, Harry, there! These are the names of the people that your _Draco_ killed, that he has to be punished for! Do you know Voldemort kept a record of every single person he had murdered and wrote down who killed them? Well, read it, Harry! There…there! It says Hanna, it says Cho, Dean, Colin, _Luna_, _GINNY_!"

My eyes clench tighter.

Weasley is yelling, "He killed her, Harry! The bastard killed my _sister_! Don't tell me he's on our side, don't tell me that he was only doing his job, don't bloody tell me that you love him when he killed our friends! My…fucking…sister!"

"Ron…"

He heaves. I think he is weeping.

"That isn't love, Harry! The fucker is deceiving you, he knows if he has you on his side then the Ministry will pardon his arse. He's no good for you, Harry. _We_ love you, me and Hermione, and not _him_."

They leave Harry to his thoughts. It's only then that I realize I'm lying on a familiar bed and I open my eyes, even if I'm scared to do so.

Harry is sitting directly in front of me, holding a piece of parchment in his right hand and his wand in his other. His eyes are dull, dull, _dull_.

"Is…Is _He_ really dead?" I ask in a whisper.

"Thanks to you."

There is no warmth in that gaze.

"I killed them, you know," I confess to someone who will never forgive me but I am not asking for atonement. I have always know that Harry's dreams will forever remain that way. I am like my father, I will die with him in prison.

"I know, it's all right here."

There is no warmth in that voice. We will have no future together. The Dark Lord's defeat means nothing to me in light of this truth.

Love like ours is the agony of Crucio, the helplessness of Imperio and the end of Avada Kedavra.

"They are right, you know, your friends. All these months of pretending…goes down the drain with that look in your eyes," I say to Harry, pushing the words past my lips like liquid tar, holding the tears, ignoring the grief. "If only the Dark Lord hadn't kept that…_list…_I would be…how do they say it? Home free…"

I twist my lips. "Right, Potter?"

-

-

-

Harry. I knew someone named Harry once but…I can't remember. Was he a friend or a foe? This Harry…

The coldness is creeping in. I shuffle deeper into the prison cell. It's cold. Oh, I trip over a corpse. Who is he?

Blond hair? Like mine?

I don't know him. Maybe once…?

I don't understand why my mind is full of holes. Why? Who is Harry? Did he love me?

Oh no, here come the Dementors again.

-

**END**


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